


Of Founders Four

by Emmazing15



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmazing15/pseuds/Emmazing15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four young people gifted with sorcery find themselves with a common goal; preserve their world and save children from further persecution. They have a lot to do and places to go before they can even think about passing on their knowledge And so begins the creation of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The day seemed to be inappropriately sunny and lovely for the proceedings to come. All the townsfolk across the mountains were gathered on the lawns of the great stone ruins, which no one dared to go anywhere near on a regular day. Today, however, a platform had been erected among the grasses. Scaffolding rose up and up and up, and four ropes dangled in equal spacing from the wooden beams. Nooses, they were. They seemed to match the haunting mass that was the black ruins of a Saxon church, the shadow of which fell not on the makeshift gallows but on the mass of water beside it. The villagers thought perhaps, with a shadow, that this might be a little grimmer. That they might have more reason to look away.

Somewhere in the nearby village, a church bell tolled. As promised, right after the sound started to fade into the trees, four figures with potato sacks over their heads and their hands bound were marched from the church ruins and onto the platform by Saxon knights. They were placed beside each rope and one by one the sacks were removed from their heads, so they may watch the colors of their world fade away as they hanged.

The first, all the way to the left, was the eldest son to the Lord of the Hollow. His hair, red as if kissed by fire, was grown long past his eyes and ears and was unruly. The wind blew the thick strands across blazing brown eyes that roamed the crowd for a familiar face. There was one, in the front, taking shape of a woman grown with the same hair and face that he had. Even as the knight placed the noose around his neck and he practically stared death in the face, Godric Gryffindor showed no fear. He even spared a smile at the woman in the front, his younger sister, who looked aghast and horrified all at the same time.

The next revealed to be a woman. She was much shorter than the man beside her, and even so compared to her companion on the other side. Someone had to produce a stool to get her neck to reach the rope. Besides the height, she was not missing much of anything else, as she was fair of face and eyes with curling locks of golden hair. Helga Hufflepuff did so much as nod courteously to the knight who set her sentence, and sweet Helga thought he deserved all the respect she had. She turned her glance quickly to Godric, who was quick to catch her eye and throw a saucy wink her way.

Another woman was under the third potato sack. This one, however, did not smile. She stared coolly ahead, with the patience of a lady, her highborn pointed features amplifying her impatience. She did not spare the knight who noosed her even a glance, even when he had the courtesy to move her curtain of black hair to one side so it was not caught in the rope. At one point she did snap, “ _Too tight.”_ as the knight fiddled with the knot. It eventually loosened and he stepped away. Even to her impending doom, Rowena Ravenclaw would not tolerate mistakes that were easily fixed. Apparently they now took anyone into knighthood.

And the last was another man, and when his face was revealed the crowd became restless. Not only was he the last in line, but also his crimes were the most surprising. Salazar Slytherin was the youngest of five sons to a jealous lord at court to the king himself, and also a Saxon knight. He stared evenly at the man putting a rope around his neck, one of Salazar’s so-called “brothers”, and then walked away to watch him die. Pathetic, the lot of them, thought Salazar. He was a champion of cold, stormy eyes and indifferent expressions and that had always been easy, until now when he was on the other side of the law. Now he was frowning, but he did not look at his companions as he stood. He only glanced once, briefly, towards Helga in her pale yellow dress about to be executed. That was what sickened him the most, past the betrayal of his fellow knights.

Forward came the executioner then. “Lord Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, and Sir Salazar Slytherin, you are sentenced to death upon the allegations of the use of witchcraft. Do you accept these charges?” he said, loud enough for the crowd of villagers to hear across the grounds.

This was the part when most unlucky enough to be executed for witchcraft would plead and cry that they were innocent. But not the four. In tandem, they said, “I do.”

Slightly taken aback by the blatant acceptance of their crimes, the executioner put his hands around the lever that would hang them all. “What are your last words?” he asked. A grim custom it was, really, but the four seemed unperturbed.

“ _Draco_ ,” said Gryffindor.

“ _Dormiens,_ ” said Hufflepuff.

“ _Nunquam,”_ said Ravenclaw.

“ _Titilandus,_ ” said Slytherin.

There was a beat of silence, confusion and surprise in the executioner and the villagers, but then there was a distant beating of what sounded like giant wings. Subsequently a giant roar followed, then fire swallowed the gallows and sent the villagers screaming.


	2. Godric

Cool wind bit sharply at the cheeks of Godric Gryffindor as he pushed his gelding to move ever _faster_. He could hear his sister’s mare gaining on him, and there was no way he would once again lose to a girl. Mud went flying in chunks all around as he rode, no doubt flinging up to stain the ends of his crimson cloak. Somewhere behind him Gaia laughed; he knew this was a good idea. Even in losing she could always find the happiness.

The giant, white tree that marked the edge of their land came into view and Godric knew he would win. A few more moments and he and his gelding were taking their victor lap around the tree, cheering.

“Well done, Godric,” said Gaia Gryffindor, tugging on her reins and pulling her mare to a stop, “You’ve won, fair and square.”

Godric grinned smugly. “I told you I could do it. You were fool to challenge me, baby sister,” he declared. Gaia shook her head, narrowing her eyes. She had asked him to stop calling her ‘baby’, and their older sister Glenda as well, as Gaia was thirteen now and ought to be flowering into womanhood any day. That was one of the last things Godric wanted to talk about, probably ever.

She then cleared her throat. “We ought to go back,” she said, nodding towards the path they just raced down.

Tilting his face towards the sky, Godric groaned. “Do you think they’ll miss us at all?” he asked, halting beside Gaia.

His sister nodded. “Glenda surely will never let us forget it should we miss her wedding. Besides, Father said you’re to meet her groom’s lord father, he’s a very important man,” she said.

“I cannot tell you how many ‘important men’ Father has introduced me to,” he said, still looking utterly bored with the entire thing. Glenda’s betrothed, almost husband, was the son of a high lord who lived a day’s ride from court. Another one of the things Godric never wanted to talk about was the Saxon knights, or becoming one. The walls around the Hollow Castle were stifling, but not nearly as imposing as the walls around the king’s keep. The Gryffindors didn’t even have a moat.

“All the same,” Gaia replied, “Time to go. The race was nice, it’s always fun to come out here, but the wedding.”

Godric gave her a nod. “Lead the way,” he said.

She smiled at him, a smile that could have lit up their woods on the cloudiest day, and galloped off for Hollow Castle. Godric was right behind her, once again alive in the feelings and smells and blurred sights of riding beyond their walls. He was glad to have this time with his baby sister, as Glenda hardly ever went near a horse unless she had to. Gaia at thirteen was stronger than any girl Godric had ever met or heard about; she could ride better than him, she knew how to wield a sword, she could shoot a long bow. Their lady mother was not happy, but did not dare to put a stop it. Gaia Gryffindor would sooner run away to the glens before she sat with Glenda and stitched for an entire day.

The siblings tore out of the woods and onto the Lionsroad, mere meters away from the gates of Hollow Castle. The Gryffindor stronghold was walled by pale yellow stone to match that of the castle, and decorated in twin tapestries and flags with their family crest and colors, crimson and gold. The gate was closed as the last of the wedding guests must have arrived after Godric and Gaia had gone out for their race.

The young lord stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled to get the attention of the steward in charge of letting them inside. He appeared in the nest atop the wall and peered down at them. “Lord Godric and Lady Gaia, how did you get down there?” he asked of them, pushing his helm out of his eyes to see properly.

“We had a score to settle, Tom,” Godric explained, “Would you be so kind as to allow us inside? Our sister’s wedding should be starting at any moment.”

The steward nodded, still holding his helm. Tomard, or Old Tom as they called him, was ancient and fat. He’s been around the Hollow since before Godric was born, sixteen years ago. Maybe even before Glenda was born too. “Right away, m’lord and lady,” said Tom and then he ducked back into the nest.

Moments later metal screeched and the gate dropped down. Godric and Gaia rode inside at a trot and over to the stables, where they climbed off their horses and handed them over to some stable boys. Godric was just shedding his gloves when someone came shrieking to the stable door.

“ _Where_ have you two been? Your sister is fretting herself to death and the two people she cares for most in this world are _gone!_ ” It was their mother. Lady Gryffindor was standing with her hands on her hips, her gold rings blending nicely with the underskirt of her crimson gown. They all wore Gryffindor colors, but Glenda was the only one allowed the gold dress.

“We weren’t even gone an hour, Mother,” said Godric.

Gaia hopped off her horse and stood beside him, her hands in the pockets of her riding leathers. “I thought her betrothed was supposed to be the person she cares most about the world,” she stated.

The brown eyes of their lady mother, so much like Godric’s own, narrowed at her daughter. “Do not disrespect me, child. Today is supposed to be a celebration,” she said and snapped her fingers, “Now, take off those rags this instant, you too, Godric. You will not go into my home smelling like horse.”

And then she left, hurrying back into the castle. Godric and Gaia followed at a much slower pace, putting off having to go into the main hall with all the guests. Godric sniffed.

“You do smell like horse,” he pointed out. Gaia just laughed shoved him, which caused him to laugh as well as they entered their home.

Soon Godric was standing before a looking glass, fastening a clean cloak around his throat with a glittering lion broach. He supposed going riding in the first one he wore was a bad idea, but usually going out without thinking was something he didn’t have to do. Not like Gaia, who had to change her clothes for nearly every occasion. The first cloak was nicer, he thought turning to look over his shoulder at his clothing: red silk doublet and matching cloak, gold embroidery and braiding. It was all lovely, but still his other cloak was nicer. It had a huge lion’s head sewn into the center and was currently covered in mud. Why was he such an idiot?

Godric abandoned the glass and went over to wear he had tossed his soiled garments on the floor. He picked up the clothes and examined the cloak, and the mud stains near the hem. Pursing his lips, he glanced at the door to make sure it was shut tight and he was truly alone. Then he laid the cloak out on his bed and stood before it. From the folds of his doublet he pulled a long, wooden stick made from one of the maples just outside the walls of the Hollow. It was easier to do tricks like these with the crutch, although he wished he didn’t have to, but it was less likely he would accidently burn the hem of his cloak with the stick. His grandfather had called it a wand when it was made for him, like what the great wizards of Camelot had used years and years ago.

He took a breath to focus, and then pointed the end of the stick towards the mud stains on his cloak. He muttered the word, in Latin, and watched as the mud stains were scourged from the red material before his eyes. Godric grinned triumphantly and tucked the wand away. Not even a second later, someone knocked on the door. Godric’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Lord Godric, your sister requests your presence,” said a handmaiden he recognized as Tesla.

No doubt Glenda _demanded_ his presence, but she would never say such a thing. “I’ll be only a moment, Tesla,” Godric replied, then calmed his racing heart and quickly switched out his cloaks. All the while he followed Tesla from his chambers to the sept, he swallowed the sudden onslaught of worry he had for anyone beside immediate family catching his little magic trick. The Gryffindors were all capable, but Godric was the only one who practiced anymore. He and Glenda used to have lessons with their grandfather before he passed, and after that no one wanted to help them as their father had lordly matters to attend to. Godric tried to teach Gaia, but that turned out to be the only thing about the girl that she allowed their mother to control. She couldn’t have stopped the old Lord Gryffindor from teaching her children to hone witchcraft, but she could stop Godric from doing it. She agreed they had a right to practice, but not under her roof, should they attract higher authorities. She would not see them hanged for their sorcery.

Still, Godric did what he could. When he wasn’t learning swordplay, he was poring over spell books and magical histories like his grandfather had had him do as a boy. That was all he could do.

Glenda Gryffindor waited with their father outside the sept. She stood out of the sun to avoid pinking her nose, but the lord stood in full armor in the light. He gave Godric a warm smile as he approached, and Glenda looked up at almost the same time.

“There you are,” said the father while she shrieked nearly the same words, waving one of her arms about.

Godric gave her a look. “Take a breath, sweet sister, your groom will still be there when I go in to sit down,” he said.

Glenda clenched her fists. “You’re late. I _knew_ you would be late. I only have one wedding and you’re late!” she cried.

Their father just looked amused. She was nervous. Godric stepped forward and took his sister’s hands, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You make a beautiful bride, Glenda,” he said. He gave her another smile and nodded towards his father, then slipped as quietly as he could into the sept.

The silence was all for naught. His family was seated in the very front row, in full view of the dais where his sister’s betrothed and the septon to marry them stood. Godric dutifully ignored them and placed himself in the empty seat second from the center, sat between his mother and Gaia. She smelled like flowers now and wore a red velvet gown, her fiery hair tied up elegantly. If not for the playful grin she always sent his way, he would never recognize the girl he went riding with.

The ceremony dragged on and on just like Godric expected it to. Their father gave Glenda away to her betrothed, they recited the sacred vows, and exchanged rings. When they kissed for the first time as husband and wife, everyone clapped as if they weren’t bored at all. The new couple led the way from the sept, and everyone gathered in the main hall of the castle across the grounds for a lavish feast.

It almost became too obvious that Godric was avoiding his father. He sat on a table that was raised from the rest of the hall as the bride’s family, still seated between Gaia and their mother. If he looked one way, he could watch Glenda and her new husband feed each other and giggle and be merry. Honestly, Godric didn’t even know if there was any love between the two of them. They sure looked like they were in love, but that was not an unusual thing to fake in a marriage like theirs. Godric hoped there were some mutual feelings there. No doubt his sister came with a rather impressive dowry. And, well, if he looked the other way he could watch serving boys try to pour enough cups of wine to please all the guests, and that was more entertaining to watch.

Once the feast had been eaten, the tables in the center of the hall were pushed apart to leave room for dancing. Everyone was on their feet then. Godric wasn’t about to get away with it anymore. Gaia was off dancing with some lordling and Godric was standing along against the dais when his father walked over. His mother was on one arm, and on the other an old man with a long white beard. That was his new brother’s father, who’s been staying in the tower of the Hollow for weeks helping with the wedding. Although, he seemed far too old and dressed far too lordly to care about it very much, as it wasn’t even his eldest son. Two young men and a lady trailed after them.

“Son,” said Lord Gryffindor with a grand gesture of his arm, “I’ve come to properly introduce you to my Lord and Lady of Slytherin, the parents of your sister’s new husband.”

Godric bowed his head as old Lord Slytherin raised one of his arms, with some difficulty it seemed. “My two youngest sons, Lord Godric. Aemon and Salazar, knights of the Anglo-Saxon empire.”

Both of the sons nodded respectfully in turn. They weren’t completely dressed up in their knightly best, but they both wore swords on their belts. Godric wondered, as he looked at the Slytherin men, how much of an age difference there was between the lord and lady. The Gryffindors had parents similar in age, which was believed to be a better way to produce more healthy children, but there was only the three of them and Godric had no brothers. Countless siblings were not lucky enough to survive for their first breaths. Yet here Lord Slytherin was with a wife who looked much younger than he, with five strapping sons. The youngest there, Salazar, had to be almost ten years Godric’s senior yet his lady mother looked no older than Godric’s own. A little sickening if he was honest.

“A grand celebration we’ve put together, do you agree?” said Lord Gryffindor, looking around the hall with a proud smile.

“Beautiful,” agreed Lady Slytherin, “Lady Glenda is absolutely radiant in that gown she wears. Was it specially made?”

“By the tailors right here in the Hollow,” Godric’s mother said with a grin to match her husband’s.

“You _must_ get them to make me a gown before we set off for home. I shall wear it and never forget this spectacular feast,” said the lady in response.

Her husband nodded slowly. “Indeed, we haven’t seen this grand a festival since our Salazar. Isn’t that right, son?” he said, turning his gaze towards the youngest son.

Either Lord Slytherin didn’t care or didn’t notice, but Sir Salazar Slytherin seemed to be very uncomfortable with this direction of the conversation. He looked down at his boots and he moved to hide his hands behind his back. “Yes, Father,” he replied, and when he looked back up his gaze met Godric’s.

“Oh, the poor dear,” Lady Slytherin sighed, “The mourning period is over and still he holds the silence. My son’s lovely wife unfortunately passed after the birth of their son, and that tiny baby soon after. It was a very, very sad time for the House of Slytherin.”

Godric remembered how his mother used to weep after one of her babies was stillborn or died soon after birth. The first couple times he and his sisters were also cut up about it, but soon they sadly stopped expecting the baby to live. He remembered how hollow he felt and how he knew it was unfair how a person could have such a short life and be taken away. Godric couldn’t imagine how it felt to lose his own child.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said to the young knight.

Salazar nodded in return, but said nothing. The Lord of the Hollow cleared his throat. “Perhaps you could distract yourself and try to convince my son to be a knight, Sir Salazar. He might need a little extra encouragement,” he said.

Godric huffed, apprehension blooming in his chest, while Salazar Slytherin bowed. “As you wish, my lord,” he said. Lord Gryffindor clapped his son on the shoulder, and showed the others away, the old Lord of Slytherin hobbling behind with his wife. No doubt Gaia was about to also meet the parents of Glenda’s husband, along with handsome Sir Aemon. Godric wasn’t sure if he approved of that.

Salazar cleared his throat. “You do not wish to become a knight for your king, Lord Godric?” he asked.

Godric swallowed. “With no disrespect, sir, not in the slightest,” he replied.

To the younger one’s complete relief, the knight cracked a smile and chuckled. “You’re nothing short of respectful, my lord. Between you and I, the only reason I come with the title of ‘sir’ is because my brothers set a precedent. If I didn’t train for King Edward, I would have forever have been the baby,” he said.

Now Godric looked amused, and searched the floor for Gaia. He couldn’t see her, so instead he turned back to Salazar. “I believe you would get along well with my little sister. She’s asked Glenda and I to stop calling her the baby,” he explained.

“My father mentioned Lady Gaia to me. She’s a fair faced girl, but a _girl_ all the same,” he said and shook his head, “I would not feel right taking her as a wife.”

“Oh no, _no,”_ said Godric very quickly, causing the eyebrows of the knight to go up in the surprise. Godric remembered his manners. “Sir. I just mean quite literally you and Gaia could have a nice conversation. I don’t think she would make a very agreeable wife to a knight… she craves too much adventure for herself.”

Salazar nodded. “She lives up to the Gryffindor spirit I’ve heard so much about then. I fear for my brother since marrying your sister.”

This time Godric did roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t worry, Sir Salazar. Glenda’s greatest dream has always been to be just like my mother, a noble lady with a lord husband to have strong sons for,” he assured.

Stroking his short brown beard, Salazar still smiled. “Perhaps then I fear for _her,_ Lord Godric.”

* * *

 

The Slytherins were to stay for two days while Glenda’s dowry settled. After the feast, Godric did not see much of his sister’s new family. In fact, he hardly saw much of his sister. She didn’t sleep in her own bedchambers anymore, which have always been just two windows away from Godric’s. He even found the servants cleaning out her rooms the day after the wedding. It was strange when Godric realized how much he would actually miss Glenda when she was gone with the Slytherins.

   The morning after the feast was spent with the master at arms and Godric’s father. The three men took turns at dueling, like they always did and have since Godric was old enough to hold a wooden stick. He always used to lose; their master at arms was his father’s cousin. Godric’s grandfather, the best swordsman in the kingdom, trained them both. But now he was older and knew all their moves, and with a step forward and thrust the point of his sword was pressed right into the chest of Lord Gryffindor.

“Ha,” said Godric simply.

His father shook his head and gently pushed away Godric’s blade. “Don’t go getting cocky, son. Just because you know how to fight does not mean your training is over now.”

“I know,” he said, putting the point of his sword into the dirt, “I just get a lot of satisfaction from pretending to murder you.”

Master Rodrick Gryffindor chuckled from the sidelines. “Other children get backhanded for saying something like that to their lord father,” he said.

Godric looked at his. The older man simply shook his head again. “Those men are cowards. Hitting a child does not teach him discipline,” he paused and raised his blade towards Godric, “Dueling him until he yields does. Never be a coward, Godric. What are the Gryffindor words?”

Godric put a hand on his hip. “Bravery, honor, and nobility,” he recited.

Uncle Rodrick sighed and stroked his greying beard. “I always wished our words were better. Bravery is all well and good, but it doesn’t roll off the tongue,” he said.

Godric tilted his head and his father scoffed. “We don’t need rhyming words like those pretentious Ravenclaws in the north. We just need them to be true,” he retorted.

“Here, here,” said Godric, raising a fist. He turned suddenly and looked up towards the tower, the top window of which he could just see on the other side of the Hollow. “Do you think the Slytherins have words?” he asked his father.

“Most likely,” the lord replied, “However, I did not take the time to learn them after the letter asking for my daughter’s hand.”

“Attentive, aren’t you?” teased Uncle Rodrick.

Lord Gryffindor turned to glower at him. Then he raised his sword. “Have at ye, scum!” he declared in reply. Rodrick started to laugh, but it was quickly overcome by a sudden shrieking for help.

Without waiting to ask, Godric jogged around the bend towards the gates of the Hollow. A serving woman was clutching onto Old Tom, weeping and still screaming for help when she spotted Godric. His father and Rodrick were not far behind.

“My lords!” she cried, stumbling towards them, “Th-three of us were by the river g-gathering roots for supper when… w-w-when-” And she broke into sobbing once more. Godric rushed over and caught the girl before she fell on her knees in the dirt, his sword forgotten by his father’s feet.

“When what?” he asked, gently but quickly.

The girl sniffed and tried to compose herself. “D-Daisy Dutch thought she saw something downwind, so she went to see what it was, and-and then she was screaming! Lord Godric, I told her not to go, I says we had work to do but she didn’t listen!” she wailed.

Godric was at his whit’s end. By now half the Hollow had gathered outside at the girl’s hysterics, including his sisters and his mother. “What happened to Daisy Dutch?” he implored.

“Something is trying to drag her under! She had a branch when I left her!” the maiden finished.

Godric placed the girl gently on the ground before bolting from the Hollow. There were shouts of his name, but he ignored them as he went barreling through the trees and towards the river. He should have taken a horse, but Godric Gryffindor wasn’t exactly in his right mind at the moment as he thought of that young girl dying on his lands. The river was in the opposite direction than his racing track, and soon enough he could hear the water flowing, but no screaming.

He paused upon seeing the third maid. A basket of roots and rushes was upended beside her feet, and she was pulling desperately and breathlessly at a long tree branch. The other end was submerged in the water, and on that end must be Daisy Dutch, completely under. Godric pushed the idea of the creature behind this to the back of his mind and hurried over to grasp the branch and join her in pulling. With their combined efforts and exhausted grunting, they managed to pull the branch from the water. But the end had snapped off, and there was no sign of Daisy Dutch.

“Daisy!” the girl cried, sinking to her knees in the muddy bank.

Godric thought fast. As he heard the distant hoof beats and the shouts of people perusing him, he tore off his cloak and quickly dropped it on the shoulders of the girl weeping on the bank. She started to cry protests as he waded into the river.

“Godric Gryffindor, what do you think you’re doing?!” It was his mother on horseback, but there was no time to lose.

At the edge of the shallows, he put out his arms and dove into the water. A woman, it must have been Gaia, shouted his name as he did so. It didn’t stop him.

The water was murky with turned over mud and plant roots. It stung his eyes, but still he reached into his doublet to produce the maple wand. Focusing very hard on the magic he could practically _feel_ under his skin, he thought about needing light and suddenly he had it. The very tip of the maple had lit up like a long, wooden candle, allowing Godric to see much easier. He could see the bottom of the river, and he could also see a strange creature near the bottom. It gave him a fright; the demon had the front half of a horse and the bottom half of a fish, and Daisy Dutch in its mouth by the ankle. She was unconscious and she would drown soon. He had never seen a thing like that before.

Do not be a coward, Godric thought, that girl will not die on your watch. But he did regret not bringing that sword. Wait. He cut himself off and looked at the maple wand in his hand. He _had_ a weapon.

Kicking his legs, Godric swam deeper after the creature. He aimed his wand at its grotesque, hairless head and then sliced it across his visage like a sword. The light that had collected at the tip went soaring towards it, and on impact the creature jerked as if surprised or hurt and released Daisy Dutch’s ankle. With a burst of energy, Godric darted down and grabbed the girl around the waist, and then pulled her back towards the surface. He was running out of air.

He heard a high, muffled sound in his ear in the dash for the top. The creature was protesting, and one look over his shoulder made him realize it had gotten over the initial attack and was stalking back to reclaim its pray. Godric wasn’t about to let that happen. He released Daisy so she started to float back up, and once again aimed his wand at the creature. He thought again like he was holding a sword. His lungs burned for air. With one desperate thrust of his right arm, he watched red bloom from a range of gashes across the sternum of the creature. It reared back, its mouth open as if screaming, and then swam away in a trail of blood mixed with the mucky water.

When Godric broke the surface, he took huge gulps of air and coughed up some water that had gotten in the way. Some men hurried onto the bank as Godric forced his legs to propel him forward and helped pull Daisy Dutch to dry land. Once she was out of his arms, he quickly shoved the maple wand into his waterlogged sleeve before he hoped anyone was able to get a good look at it. Once that was done he dropped to the ground beside the young woman he just saved, and then he suddenly had no idea how to make her breathe again.

“Out of my way,” shouted a man’s voice. Soon Salazar Slytherin knelt across from him. He placed both of his hands on Daisy’s chest and used all of his weight to press down on her ribcage. At that movement Daisy’s eyes flew open and she sat up, coughing up water and muck everywhere.

Her eyes widened when they fell on Godric. “M-m-my l-l-” She had to stop, as her teeth had started to chatter and her lips were turning blue. Godric looked around quickly, and spotted the maid with his cloak.

“Th cloak, please,” he croaked at her. She rushed over and quickly shed it for him, and he promptly wrapped it around Daisy to try and keep her warm. Salazar helped her sit up, and she shifted to rest comfortably against Godric’s chest

“You saved me,” she whispered to him, “From that thing. Thank you.”

Godric was shivering too, but he barely noticed. “My job is to protect my people. You are one of those people, no matter your job,” he replied.

Daisy Dutch gave him a smile. “You’re so brave. I was being stupid,” she said, “I’ll remember this forever.”

He smiled back. Stupid or not, he had never seen such a monstrous creature before. That worried him, especially if it lived so close to the Hollow and liked to dine on humans. Something that did give him hope, however, was the fact that his maple had obeyed him without any sort of words coming out of his mouth. Perhaps he was more talented than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should stop starting new stories...


	3. Helga

The town was alive before most of its inhabitants were. In the orange light of the dawn, a group of villagers were arranging their wares in market stalls ready to sell to all those who travel through the center on their way to work. Right in the line of the rising sun, a girl ran a small stall laden with freshly baked goods. At seventeen, Helga Hufflepuff was the only person in her village that could sell her entire stock in one morning. And she did it all before eleven, when her father’s tavern opened.

Tendrils of blonde hair were already falling from Helga’s chignon, but all she could do at that point was just push them behind her ears, since trying to tame her curls was fighting a losing battle. Instead she set up her tarts, cakes, and biscuits just so on her stall so that passerby would be drawn in by the bright colors. To her, selling food was an art.

Helga’s first customer was old Sir William, a retired knight who had returned to his birthplace. He commanded the village guards now. “Good morning, sir,” she chirped.

Sir William looked up from the strawberry tarts. “Hello, Mistress Hufflepuff. Your goods look delicious, as always,” he said.

She gave him a modest smile. “It’s all in the ingredients. Strawberries are in season, you know,” she said, smiling down at the row of tarts with red filling.

“I do now,” the old knight chuckled, “I expect they’re from your own garden?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smiled and deliberated for a few moments. “I will take two,” he declared and reached into his pockets for his purse. Helga took two strawberry tarts and put them and a gardenia bloom in a small crate. The crate was originally for an order of milk bottles and Helga loved gardenias so much they’d become her staple. Helga took a gold piece and two silvers for the tarts, which was overpaying, but Sir William did not wait to be paid the extra. He bid her a pleasant day and was on his way.

So Helga stood by herself all morning, selling her goods to the passerby with a smile, and she didn’t even eat one thing even though around nine her stomach started to growl. She had a myriad of customers; two fishermen back from a trip and hungry for something sweet, a mother and her four babes who proclaimed she had no time to bake, even the daughter of the liege lord to their village of Harenfield, plus countless other townsfolk. Not a minute went by that Helga was not perfectly content with her sweet little life. If she could live out her days with her father, taking care of him and the tavern in his growing age, then she would be happy.

Soon after the church bell tolled eleven, Helga had packed up her stall and moved the wooden structure into the shed. The little shanty had once been a kennel for her father’s hounds, but they had all grown old and died when she was very young. Old Hufflepuff could not hunt anymore besides. So, in went Helga’s market stall, while the moneybox was kept with her. After she was finished with that, she headed right into the front door of the tavern. Then she propped it open with a rock.

“Sleep well, Father?” Helga called into the kitchen door. She could hear him banging around within, getting ready for the midday rush.

He poked his head out. “Like a baby, my dear,” he replied. He smiled at her, and his dimples sunk into the wrinkles around his mouth. Her father was not too old yet, but coupled with the stress of the tavern he was beginning to look an old man.

“Good to hear,” she said, bending behind the counter to put the moneybox in its place by the beer flagons, and tie her apron around her waist, “I sold all of the sweets today, Father. Even Meranda Haren was in the market this morning and bought some biscuits.”

Her father came out of the kitchen with two tall casks of cold milk, fresh from the icebox. “Wonder what little Lady Meranda was doing here. I’m sure her castle has anything that our village does,” he said.

Helga lifted her shoulders. “I didn’t ask. But her coppers sure are shiny,” she told her father with a grin.

He walked over and kissed her on the head. “And you said you sold every single thing? Helga, my sweet daughter, what would I do without you?” he said and Helga’s cheeks went pink at the praise, “You’re a blessing. Your mother would be so very proud.”

Her smile widened at the thought of her mother. She had died soon after Helga’s birth, and she told her husband that that was all she had to do in life, bring a beautiful baby girl into the world to do some good. Helga had grown up hearing the words of her mother from the mouth of her father, to be kind and loyal and true. That’s all she ever strived for. Although, not a day went by that she didn’t wish she could meet her mother.

“You tell me every day, Father,” Helga reminded him.

He just smiled. “I never want you to forget. Ah,” he looked over her head, and she turned to see men walking in, “Why don’t you go on and sweeten that milk for me? You’re the only one who ever seems to do it just right.”

Helga nodded. “Of course,” she said.

As her father went to attend to the customers, Helga wandered over to the caskets of milk he had taken from the ice. The wood was keeping it cold to the best of its ability, but the sun streaming in through the front windows promised to make it a hot day. She stood behind the counter and reached onto a shelf for the pot of honey, and a spoon with it. She pulled the tops of the caskets off and scooped two and half spoonfulls of honey into each one. She stirred both mixtures with a wooden spoon and then placed their lids back in place.

“Two cups of sweet milk, would you please, Helga!” her father called.

“Right away!” she replied, filling two cups of the crisp white drink and bringing them to the table of men. And the rest of her day started.

* * *

About midafternoon, Helga was standing behind the counter drying some clean cups with her apron. Customers were coming in and out regularly now, and there was a healthy crowd always seated about the tavern. So she didn’t notice a young man wander in until he was standing right in her visage.

Helga looked up to meet his eyes, and she gave him a smile. “What can I get you, Bellamy?” she asked amicably.

He leaned his chin in his hand, his elbow on the counter. “An entire flagon full of your sweet milk, please,” he said in reply.

Helga bent and picked one out, then expertly flipped the spout on the last casket and closed it again without spilling a drop. It was still ice-cold despite being out of the box for hours. She slid it over to Bellamy. “There you go,” she said.

He took the flagon in both his hands, and his grin never slipped. “Aren’t you supposed to ask if I want anything else?” he implored.

She raised her eyebrow. “Would you like anything else?” she said.

“I’d like you to marry me,” he replied without pause.

“No, thank you,” Helga replied in an even tone.

Bellamy huffed and laid his head on her counter. “Why not? We’ve known each other our entire lives, Helga Hufflepuff, it’s practically written in the stars!” he complained.

“I can’t get married,” she replied, sounding much more sorry than she felt, “My place is here.”

He pouted at her, trying to get her to soften. Bellamy was the son of an innkeeper and a great man, but Helga couldn’t bear to leave her father alone. If she married him she would be the innkeeper’s wife, and she would tend to the inn, and her father would drown without her.

“Bellamy, no,” she said, firmer this time.

“Your father is well past a man grown! He can defend and provide for himself. And it’s time I take a wife, and you’re my first choice,” he told her.

Helga filled a small glass cup with white whine for herself. “I’m flattered, Bellamy, really, but I can’t. I invite you to remain my friend,” she said and took a sip.

“We can’t be friends if I love you,” Bellamy replied simply, “When will you marry me?”

“Oh, yes we can,” Helga said firmly. Then she feigned being pensive while she thought of something witty to say. “We’ll get married when snakes can speak.”

Bellamy looked pouty again, but she barely paid him any mind. He’d been trying to get her to marry him since they were fourteen, and that was before they were expected to do much of anything. Bellamy’s parents were pressuring him, Helga knew, because now they were both over age. He would make a very respectable husband and she knew he would be gentle with her, but she just could not bring herself to do it. It would almost be like marrying her little brother.

He picked up his head and tried once more. “But don’t you see-”

“Helga!” Mercifully, it was her father.

She found him approaching the counter. “Yes?” she responded.

He set a tray of glassware on the wood. “Why don’t you take some of these dishes and give them a good washing in the kitchen? We’ll need them before people come in for supper,” he instructed and then caught sight of the thorn in his daughter’s side, “Ah, Bellamy, good to see you.”

“And you, Master Hufflepuff,” he replied desolately. Without another word, Helga gathered the dirty dishes and pushed herself into the kitchen.

It seems that her father’s tray was about the fourth one since that morning. The sink basin was full of water and teeming with bowls and dishes and cups, not to mention she had stupidly left out all of the food preparation tools she used for the midday meals. She’ll need to clean all of it before she could even think of preparing supper, and _then_ she would have to dirty it again. Helga placed her hands on her hips and stared around at it all. She really wished they could hire help.

Under her skirt, a cloth sheath sat against her thigh. Well, she supposed she could help herself.

Helga reached through the small space between her bodice and her skirt, which was only there for ventilation as this was a summer dress, and pulled out a long stick of rosewood. It was fashioned to be thicker at one end and thinner at the other, and was smoothed down to have a comfortable grip. It had been her mother’s, but it worked for Helga just fine, while her father’s cedar never did. It never generated enough power for her. That wand had broken years ago, now Helga thought of it. No matter, the rosewood did all it had to.

She pointed the thin end at the knives and boards used for midday meals, and they hopped into the air seemingly of their own accord to dunk themselves in the water. A cloth joined them, soaping up to clean off the food residue. Helga looked pointedly at the morning dishes. “Up with you too. Come now, _locomotor,_ ” she said, waving the wand again. The glassware joined in with the bath, the basin now teeming with sweet smelling suds.

While that was being done, Helga placed the rosewood wand aside and got ingredients out to prepare supper. Some salted fish, raw beans and fresh berries from her garden in the yard were all set out on the counter across the room from the sink. As the dishes washed, Helga spiced and rubbed the fish and the beans herself. When that was finished, the utensils came back to their space and started to do their jobs. A board scooped up the fish and beans to take them to roast. Other dishes stacked onto their rack to dry while Helga joined the others still being scrubbed in the sink basin, where she also took up a brush to help the process along. All the while she hummed happily, not bothered or worried by the magic displayed around her.

And then the kitchen door slammed open. Everything stopped, unfortunately pausing midair. Helga turned sharply to look over her shoulder, praying to Merlin himself that it was her father, but of course it wasn’t. No, it had to be Bellamy snooping where he didn’t belong.

He stared around at the inanimate objects moving themselves, at the knives hovering just above freshly beheaded dandelions and strawberries. The door slowly latched shut behind him as his stare moved to Helga.

She held up a soapy hand between them. “Bellamy-”

“You’re… you’re a…” And as he was taking a deep breath to scream _witch_ , Helga flicked her wrist and sent a glass shattering against his temple. She winced; the sound told her it hurt just enough to knock him unconscious. He started to slump, and he landed hard against the wooden door. She hurried over to help ease him onto the floor. Helga touched his head and her hand came back clean. The glass hadn’t cut him. She stood for a moment until she found her rosewood, then she fixed the glass and had it safely back on the counter in seconds. Then she crouched back down in front of Bellamy’s unconscious form.

“Oh, Bellamy,” she muttered, “If only you weren’t so damn persistent this wouldn’t keep happening.” Maybe she would also hurt his head less if she knew how to knock him out magically. But that was yet to be discovered. Instead she pointed the rosewood wand at him. “ _Obliviate,_ ” she whispered, and turned her wrist just so to extract everything he saw of her in the kitchen. Then she rose back to her feet and found a dry cloth. She filled the cloth with ice and waved her wand once more so that everything she had spelled went back to looking very un-spelled. With one last look, Helga then knelt back down in front of Bellamy and pressed the ice cloth to his head. Then she said, “ _Rennervate._ ”

Bellamy started to stir, and she quickly hid the wand behind her back. When his eyes opened, it was safely out of his sight. “Helga?” he said groggily, “What happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I was washing up, see, and you walked in. Something slammed and suddenly you were on the floor,” she told him, her expression soft and concerned.

He reached up and took over holding the ice to his head. “I must have underestimated the height of your cupboards,” he said, looking up.

Helga nodded slowly. “An honest mistake. Come, I’ll help you up,” she said. She grabbed him under the arm and pulled Bellamy back up, and he stumbled just a bit as they were both only holding onto each other with one arm. “Do you think you can make it home?” she asked him.

Bellamy nodded. “Yes, my horse is tied up outside…” he trailed off, sounding rather dazed.

Helga chewed her lip. Perhaps her memory spell didn’t go as well as she’d hoped. Then again, she did smash a glass into his head. “Well, I can help you to the door,” she promised, “And you can keep the cloth.” She quickly reached out and placed her rosewood on the counter on her way out of the kitchen, and then used both her arms to support Bellamy until he was out of the tavern.

He looked back once and waved. Helga waved back. No doubt he would be back the next day, once again begging her to marry him. As Helga stood at the door and watched him mount his horse and leave, her father came up beside her.

“You’re not very good at hiding, are you?” he muttered.

She shook her head. “I am getting better at lying, though.” 

* * *

At dusk the tavern closed. As usual, Father said he would take care of the evening’s washing up, and Helga was free to go about and do what she’d like. With her apron folded back up in its place, she left the tavern and headed out into the tree line, where her father’s overgrown lands held her garden and the rock paths she used to play in as a kid.

Now, she sat on a log and waited. It wasn’t long before she could hear the thumping of small feet. She turned to look over her shoulder and smiled at the five children that ran her way. They all greeted her with sunny expressions and hellos.

“Hello, everyone,” Helga said, her smile wide, “Are we ready for today’s lesson?”

There were nods all around. Most of Helga’s students were girls, as they didn’t usually learn the things that boys did, but oftentimes their brothers came as well. They all lived on the same road as Helga and her father, and they were all completely smitten with her. All the children were under the age of seven.

Helga produced her rosewood and waved it before them. Her students watched in wonder as six colored butterflies took wing right out of the tip. “Right. Today, we’re going to learn our colors, and tomorrow there will be a test. First up… Lorelei!” A small redhead perked up. Helga sent one of the butterflies towards the little girl, who held up her hand to catch it on her fingers. “What color are the butterfly’s wings, Lorelei?” Helga asked.

She studied it for a moment. “Blue! No… purple!” the girl chirped.

“Well done, it is purple. Purple is a mixture of this color,” Helga held up one of her hands to allow the blue butterfly to land on it, and on the other sat the red one, “And this one. Daniel, can you tell me what color the first one is?”

Daniel looked either awestruck or completely at a loss. She just smiled at him. “Come now, you can do it. It’s the same color as the sky on a sunny day, or like Bronwyn’s dress.” She nodded at the oldest girl, sitting in the front.

A grin grew on the boy’s face. “Blue!” he declared.

“Yes! You’re too smart for me,” she said and Daniel blushed bashfully, “Now, what about this other-”

Her words were cut off by the sound of glass smashing, and then a woman was yelling shrilly and angrily. Shouts of others joined the fray; so many Helga couldn’t understand what they were saying at all. Someone tugged on her sleeve.

“What’s happening, Helga?” asked Daniel, looking frightened.

She gulped. Whatever it was, it was not a place for children. “Run along home now everyone,” she said, rising from the log and waving her arms, “Through the back way, don’t get caught on the road. And stay together until you all get home!”

            As a group the children scattered. Helga waited until they had disappeared into the neighbor’s wood, and then she picked up her skirt and jogged towards the road in front of the tavern. The rosewood wand was safely tucked under the folds of yellow damask.

There was a commotion. The window of the seamstress’s shop across the way was smashed right through. Inside, Helga could see bolts of fabric strewn across the floor. But what was more astounding was the seamstress was standing in her open threshold sobbing while her husband stood in the center of the road holding a struggling girl in his arms. Lady Meranda Haren. The husband was shouting for the village guards. When Helga listened closely, she could hear what everyone else was shouting about.

_Witch! Let her hang! Witch, witch, witch!_

Meranda kicked and thrashed, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “I’m not a witch! You let me go, I’m a _lady!_ ” she cried.

Cloaked men arrived from down the road on horseback, led by Sir William. He pulled up first. “What has happened here?” he demanded.

The seamstress let out a choked sob and stepped forward. “It was terrifying, sir!” she said breathlessly, “I was minding my own business when that girl came in. She wanted silk and I told her we would have some in just a few days, and then things started to fly off the shelves. One nearly hit me right in the head! I made her angry, sir, and she tried to kill me! She’s of the devil!”

Helga was stunned. She watched as helpless Meranda started to sob as well. “It was _not_ I, Sir William! I was just about to leave when all those things started to move,” she pleaded.

The old man stroked his whiskers. There were more shouts of _witch, witch, witch._ “Lord Haren would not be pleased if his daughter did not return from market,” he said.

“They’re all witches!” someone of the gathering crowd shouted.

Others joined. “Let them all burn! Devils!”

“No!” Meranda shrieked, helpless in the arms of a man much larger than her.

Sir William seemed to deliberate for a moment. Witches were vastly hated, and for all Helga knew Meranda and the Harens _could_ have magic, but they were definitely not evil. Magic was _not_ evil. It was a gift. Even if she made the fabric fall, it was not on purpose. Then, Sir William waved his hand. “She shall hang.”

“No,” Helga whispered.

The village guards took Meranda from her captor and bound her hands and even her ankles, which was a feat since she was thrashing so much. If she were actually a witch, she would have done something to save herself by now. They placed her on the back of one of the guardsmen’s horses, carelessly as if she weren’t the daughter of a lord, and rode off towards the village square. The crowd surged to follow, but Helga forced herself across the street to look in through the broken window. Hanging Meranda Haren would not pay to fix the glass. In fact, hanging Meranda Haren was nothing but hysterical murder.

Movement under a bolt of velvet caught Helga’s eye. She leaned further into the hole, looking closely, and then a blue blur streaked out from under the fabric. Then, it promptly smashed into the other wall, sending more things crashing to the floor. Helga watched mystified as the little blue thing settled on the ground and rubbed it’s bald, bulbous head. Others like it started to come out from hiding, creating a high-pitched jabbering sound that seemed a lot like laughter.

 _Pixies!_ Or were they Doxies? They definitely were not fairies. It was time to reread Mother’s books; Helga could never remember the difference. She definitely knew they were magical creatures that Muggles were not keen enough to notice. She also now knew that Meranda Haren had nothing to do with the things flying off the shelves. Those tiny, annoying pests were at fault.

Maybe there was still time to save her.

Helga once again picked up her skirt and ran in the direction of the village square, where the gallows would be erected. There was a steady trickle of people also heading that way. If they were going about their business or were interested in seeing a young girl hang, she didn’t know. She was only interested in perhaps saving an innocent life. Even if she didn’t quite know what she was going to do yet.

The crowd was thicker once the buildings opened into the square. Also, it was almost completely silent until the jailor said, “Lady Meranda Haren, you are being put to death for the use of witchcraft. How do you plead?”

“I didn’t do it!” she cried, tears falling freely down her cheeks and into the rough rope around her neck, “Please, please don’t, my father-”

“Any last words?” the jailor shouted over Meranda’s pleas.

This was madness. In other places, where maybe the liege lord had more money, they had trials and drop door gallows. Meranda stood on a stool, her ankles still bound so that if she swayed it would all end.

The last words of the lady were her begging to see her family, asking the guardsmen to hear her that she wasn’t a witch. That never worked, but in the face of death she was no doubt desperate. It was as if time slowed down when the jailor walked over to kick the stepstool out, and at the same time Helga pulled her wand. She gave it a wave and cut the rope from the gallows as the stool went flying. Meranda fell onto her chest on the platform, which probably hurt a lot, but it was better than being dead.

Villagers started to scream and run. Some of them saw it as a witch freeing herself; others saw it as divine power intervening. But either way, they did not want to be around for what came next. Helga pushed against the current of the crowd to try to get to the scaffolding. However, in the next instant, a guardsman drew his sword and lopped Meranda Haren’s head right from her shoulders.

There was more shrieking. Helga turned her back sharply, but she had already seen the head roll. Tears sprung to her eyes. She’s never felt more powerless, or upset that her drive to help had been futile. She had never even seen a hanging before, because her father refused to participate, especially since most were hanged for witchcraft. Helga hated that her family gift couldn’t be celebrated like it deserved.


	4. Rowena

Her pale face nearly red in concentration, Rowena Ravenclaw had finally made a quill pen turn over in midair without even a nudge of her wand. The feather was sleek and black like the ink it drew, and while all together nothing special, at that moment it was the greatest thing Rowena had ever seen. And her mother said she wasn’t improving quickly enough.

“Drop it!”

And speak of the devil… Rowena did as she was told. She lifted her eyes from the quill, and it dropped back onto the table. Lady Ravenclaw marched into the library, her blue and red skirts swishing as if a warning for her approach.

“Did you see, Mother?” Rowena asked, “I levitated it without my wand.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, well done,” she breathed. Rowena deflated just a bit, but not enough for her bodice to pinch. “Do you not remember what I said, Rowena? The Delmares are arriving today,” the lady continued.

“I remember,” her daughter said, “No magic.”

“ _ No magic.  _ I fear Lord and Lady Delmare are not going take kindly to a girl doing magic. Their family is very strict and very old, magic is for men,” Lady Ravenclaw continued.

“I understand.”

“And you will not-”

“Ruin this for Royce,” Rowena finished, “I understand, Mother.”

That seemed to appease her, and without another word she swept from the room, leaving Rowena alone once more. She was not apt to forget anything, let alone a day like her brother finally meeting his betrothed. Royce was six years younger than Rowena, putting him at eleven. The Delmares had a daughter of thirteen, Violet, whom has been pledged to her brother basically since he was born. They were an old family with old magic that her parents wanted to keep close to them, which Rowena understood as self-preservation, even though the Ravenclaws boasted they were descended from Merlin himself.

Her father told all their guests that the greatest wizard of all time was born in the Glens of Ravenclaw, as well as all his bastard children. How strange that Merlin is famed with all his bastards while Morgan le Fey birthed one of royal blood and was known to be evil, Rowena thought somewhat idly while she cleaned up her things.

Rowena found her way out of the library and into the winding halls of her castle home. On the way her father passed without a word, which was normal. No doubt he was busy preparing for the Delmares and didn’t have anything to say to her anyway. She was not discouraged, and happened upon her mother again before the staircase.

“Rowena, did you tidy up those books, or at least have someone else do it?” she asked.

Rowena nodded. “I did, Mother.”

Lady Ravenclaw smiled. “That’s a good girl. I know you’ll be well behaved and proper for Lady Violet and her family, she’ll be lady of this castle one day after all,” she said.

Rowena nodded again. She may be the eldest, but wizarding and non-wizarding law alike prohibited women from inheriting property or titles unless their husband came with them. Therefore, everything the Ravenclaws owned was going to Royce, which was why Violet Delmare was so important. The Ravenclaw line needed an heir, after Royce. Better him than her two baby brothers, she supposed.

Her mother cradled Rowena’s face gently. “I’m proud of you, darling. So beautiful and so very smart. You will make a wonderful match this season, I know you will,” she said confidently and released, “Now, do go change and fix up your hair. Our guests should be here very soon.”

And she swept away again, most likely to look for her lord husband. Rowena watched her go for just a moment before climbing down the stairs two turns for her bedchambers. Upon opening her door, two grey blurs streaked out giggling like mad. Her baby brothers.

“Rats!” Rowena shouted after them, annoyed. They were not allowed to touch her things!

Then her chambermaid was at the door, out of breath and red in the face. “I’m sorry, Lady Rowena,” she panted, “I couldn’t catch them, and they can just…  _ move  _ things without touching them, and-”

“Helena, it’s alright. I can help put everything back in order,” Rowena interjected and walked past the maid and into her room.

As Helena bent to pick up garments that two youngest Ravenclaws had littered the floor with, Rowena simply pulled her wand and gave it a wave. Everything that was out of place started to right itself, and even the things in her maid’s arms tugged out of her grasp. All of the Ravenclaws’ servants were under vow to take their knowledge of witchcraft to the grave, but it still did not keep them all from turning pale each time one glimpsed it. Some even muttered prayers to their god.

Rowena placed her wand carefully on her windowsill where the sun could warm the dark wood, and turned to her chambermaid. “Will you help me dress?” she asked.

“Of course, my lady.”

Helena helped her out of her day gown and into something more ornate; a silky gown of dark blue to compliment the black of her hair with pearls sewn into the bodice and sleeves. Said sleeves were belled like her skirt, with the inner made of Welsh wool clinging to her wrists and the outer dipping nearly to the floor. Once her stays were tied, she sat before a looking glass at her vanity while Helena tied up her hair. While her long, straight tendrils hung over her shoulder, Rowena spoke up.

“Have you seen Royce today?” she asked curiously.

Helena gave a nod. “I have, my lady,” she answered.

“And?”

“He stays in his chambers,” the maid explained, “He asks for endless bottles of ink, and rolls and rolls of parchment. He writes so much we fear his fingers will be stained black forever.”

Rowena smiled very tightly. “My brother wishes to be a playwright. He no doubt wishes to give up the glens as well,” she said, moving her eyes down so that she didn’t peer at her own reflection.

Helena pushed a hairpin against her scalp a little too hard. “If I may speak freely, my lady, your little lord of a brother is quite afraid of the burden on his shoulders. I believe he writes to see if he has a stable reason to pass on his birthright,” she said.

“As nice of a notion as that is, I would sooner die than see the Glens of Ravenclaw go to one of the rat twins,” Rowena grumbled to her lap.

“He would pass them to you, Lady Rowena,” Helena told her as she finished with her hair.

She looked up then, aghast. “But… that’s not how things are done,” she said.

“I believe Lord Royce understands that-”

“My father  _ and  _ all my brothers would have to die before that happened,” Rowena continued, mostly ignoring her maid, “But, I suppose if he commands it once he’s the liege lord no one can argue it. Then again, the glens are home to lots of old magic, they perhaps wouldn’t listen to me even then. This all has to do with Royce’s talent for writing plays, of course, and if our lord father will fall into eternal sleep before I’m wed to another lord and his lands.”

Rowena raised her eyes back to the looking glass, where she met Helena’s stare. She was smiling fondly, just listening to her lady talk. Rowena smiled back, but it was rueful. She often got lost in her own thoughts, especially when it came to her family and her home.

“My apologies for the chatter,” Rowena muttered.

Helena shook her head and gently clasped Rowena’s shoulder. “You never chatter, Lady Rowena, you’re a treasure. You make me stick to my wits,” she assured.

Rowena chuckled. “So very close to the Ravenclaw words, Helena.”

“I’m glad that was not lost on you, my lady.”

Two hours later the Delmares arrived, and much of their household. Not only did Violet and her parents ride in a litter, but about thirty knights and men-at-arms also rode in with them. A caravan of servants was even led around the back of the castle to find their own quarters.

Rowena stood between her mother and Royce, greeting each of their guests as they entered the castle after her father’s formal escort. Even the rat twins each said a humble hello to the passing knights. Royce took the hand of his betrothed and kissed her knuckles, while she turned pink and curtsied in reply. Rowena watched the exchange fondly. Her brother was turning into quite the little man.

Her father and Lord Delmare walked together as they all headed towards the great hall for the supper feast. “We have barracks ready for your men,” said the former, “Mine own have been preparing, but of course are not used to sharing. We don’t have a lot of guests, you see, Lord Delmare.”

Lord Delmare waved his hand and chuckled, and his round gut shook beneath his velvet. “My men are small in number  _ and  _ size, my lord of Ravenclaw. There will be no problems from them,” he assured.

“And you have my utmost trust in the matter. The House of Delmare does not take in just anyone, as I understand it,” Lord Ravenclaw continued.

“Certainly not,” interjected Delmare’s lady wife, “We command utmost respect and honor. And those who disobey suffer dearly at the hand of my strong husband.”

Said strong husband chuckled and looped his arm around the waist of his lady. “By my hand, she of course means with a wooden extension. I’m afraid it hasn’t touched the hilt of a sword since our Violet was born,” he said.

Rowena’s eyes slid to her father’s waistline, where she knew their own family wand was tucked away safely. Royce had gotten one of his own for his eleventh birthday, and no doubt the twins will as well, but she hadn’t. Her mother didn’t have one either. It was known in their world that wizardry was not evil like the common folk said, but a gift from Merlin himself. However, witchcraft was another story. While the Ravenclaws had allowed their wives and daughters to learn for decades now, some magical families frowned upon such a custom. Women were too frail for Merlin’s gift, they said, or it consumed them and made them mad. Yet it hadn’t hurt Rowena in all her years of learning.

The Ravenclaws welcomed their guests into the great hall for a feast, and they got to take up most of the dais as the guests. Royce got to sit beside Violet, so Rowena and the twins were relegated to one of hall tables. Small, hovering flames took the place of candles along each table, and they were cool to the touch in case children got curious. The twins were trying to throw the flames at each other before even the wine was served, and Rowena smacked the table to get their attention. One twin jumped in surprise, but the other still dangled a flame over his brother’s head.

“Ramsey, stop,” she snapped.

“But I’m not doin’ anything!” argued the eight-year-old, who was leaning away from the onslaught of light. Rowena had misnamed them, again. 

She sighed deeply, remaining calm. Children required firm but calm discipline, her mother said. “Remy. Put the fire down. You’re setting a bad example for the Delmare children.”

Remy passed a glance over at the youngest of the Delmares, who were five and six, sitting at the end of the dais where the twins usually sat. The youngest was almost asleep, and the other one had his finger up his nose. Remy and Ramsey exchanged a look, and then passed it onto Rowena.

“Stop it,” Rowena said immediately.

Remy let go of the flame, Ramsey squealed, but it ended up bypassing him altogether and going back to its spot on the table. Then both twins obediently straightened up. “They’re boring,” they told their sister in unison.

“I know,” agreed Rowena with a sigh, “But they’re our guests. And we have to behave because Royce is going to marry Violet. Surely Mother explained this to you?” The boys nodded. “Good. It would be of your best interests to remember that and  _ behave. _ Do you understand me?”

With matching scowls, the twins nodded again. Rowena nodded in return and folded her hands on the table while she waited for supper to be served. The twins looked miserable, but they were quiet, and she didn’t feel all that bad about it. They had plenty of time to be loud and obnoxious when they weren’t trying to impress their future family. Additionally, they were only children and they would get over it. 

After a thankfully uneventful feast, the ladies split from the gentlemen and Rowena ended up seated in between her mother and Violet. It didn’t take very long for Rowena to realize that her brother’s future wife was absolutely unbearable. 

“Where are you in your studies, Lady Violet?” asked Lady Ravenclaw after she sipped her tea cup.

“I’ve just completed my own gown this past week, my lady,” the younger girl replied with a shy smile, “It’s silk. I’ll probably wear it to the Harvest Ball in the capitol.”

Rowena scowled into her own tea. No one talked about the Harvest Ball at King Edward’s palace unless they were too proud about being invited. The Ravenclaws were seldom invited anymore unless her father made a significant donation that season, but her mother kept going on about Rowena perhaps being invited to meet the prince. 

King Edward’s eldest son, also named Edward, was about ten years younger than Rowena was. 

“Oh, how lovely! We haven't been to the palace since Rowena and Royce were just children,” Lady Ravenclaw said with a smile, thought it didn't reach her eyes. Rowena could tell her mother was just a bit jealous. 

“It is a bit of a long journey, Mother,” Rowena added, “I think the risks of trying to make that journey without a full garrison outweighs the benefits of attending the ball.”

The other women in the room regarded Rowena with expressions that ranged between surprise and disbelief. In turn she said nothing more, simply took a sip from her tea cup. 

That wasn’t the full reason why Rowena did remain silent for the rest of the night, but she hoped that the others thought it was. Really she wasn’t even the least bit interested in hearing any more about dressmaking and needlepoint and how great the men in their lives were. She knew all she needed to know about those topics, and she was not under the impression that men she already knew could improve themselves at all. Instead, her mind wandered to something she found truly important; the backwards ways in which the Delmares treated their magic.

It was a disgrace, in Rowena’s opinion. If Lord Delmare could carry a wand instead of a sword, why wouldn’t he want to teach his family the same? Rowena technically shared her wand with her mother, but it never worked as well for the latter as it did for the former. Royce had his own and so did their father. No doubt when the twins were old enough they would both receive a wand as well when they were old enough. Violet, nor none of her siblings owned one or for that matter knew how to use it. What a waste, Rowena thought. Magic was the gift of a specific amount of knowledge that not everyone could learn. 

Lady Ravenclaw drew Rowena from her reverie, when all the candles in the room had nearly burned down. “Rowena will be walking in with Royce tomorrow at the welcoming ball. They’re going to look just darling,” she told the other women.

“Shouldn’t he enter with Violet?” asked Lady Delmare.

While her mother still smiled and looked unchanged, Rowena could tell from the rigidness of her shoulders that she was very annoyed at being undermined. “I believe that would be improper. While the two have been betrothed for a time, their coming out as a couple will not be until the ball, therefore they should enter separately and leave together,” she replied, her voice cool and calm, but so much so to an unlearned mind it was a bit scathing.

Rowena grinned into her teacup upon seeing the steely look upon Lady Delmare’s face.

It was well past her usual bedtime when Rowena left her room that night for a cup of tea. The kitchens of the Ravenclaw castle were all the way down underground, where they weren’t easily accessed by most. The main reason was to keep things running smoothly, but the next reason was because the Ravenclaws had rather… unconventional kitchen staff.

Holding a taper aloft, Rowena headed down to the kitchen along the path she knew so well. She did this all the time, as she was often up late practicing her wand work, or reading, or perhaps reading so she could practice more. She wasn’t sure what hour it actually was, but around the same time every night she got sleepy. But considering she always had more to do, she needed something to wake her up. And Mal in the kitchen always had just the thing. 

Wizarding families often kept their kitchens a bit too far away from everywhere else. Mostly because they kept elves to help prepare things, which would definitely give them away to those not vowed to tell. The elves were excellent chefs, and cleaned spotlessly, but a wizarding house also part of society could not go without human help as well. So, at least in the Ravenclaw castle, the elves were stored safely in the kitchen.

As soon as Rowena stepped in, one of the elves perked up. “Lady Rowena! How can Mal help you this night?”

“I have quite a bit of work tonight, Mal,” she replied, “Can you make me some of your magic tea?”

Mal nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, my lady! And it sure does have some magic,” said the elf with a wink of her giant, bulbous eye. The elves of the house really were ugly, and their voices were so grating, but they were also very kind and lived to serve. Rowena didn’t like to think ill of them.

Mal returned with a cup of tea and bowed low while she presented it to Rowena. With a smile and a soft thank you, she took it and left the kitchens to the elves. In one hand she held her cup, the other the taper, and the wand tucked into her hair. It kept the dark locks out of her face while she read, but she was also out of hands to hold it with. It was easy to filch the wand from her father once he was through with his day clothes.

On her regular path back to her chambers, Rowena passed the barracks where the foot soldiers were kept while the Delmares visited. As she walked by, she was as quiet as a mouse, but inside was a different story. In fact, it was rather annoyingly loud. Rowena thought about telling them off, but it was improper for a lady to sneak around, even in her own house. And she was a wooden stick in her hair.

She changed her mind when she heard a woman’s scream come from inside. Rowena put the teacup on the ground and tried to open the door, but it was locked from the other side. She ground her teeth and pulled the wand out of her hair. She didn’t really notice the difference when it fell around her shoulders, almost to her waist.

“ _ Alohomora! _ ”

Rowena pushed the door open and was greeted with a sight that made her blood boil. The soldiers had a collection of the Ravenclaw maids among them, most of them missing clothing, all of them looking horrified. One of the soldiers had one of the maids against the wall, with others watching, one of her legs clenched in his arm and her thin dressed shoved all the way up her mid-thighs. His hand was covering her mouth, stifling her screaming for help.

It was Helena.

Rowena’s fist clenched, tightening on the wand in her hand, and she did the first thing she could think of. She raised it. 

“ _ Flipendo! _ ”

The soldier currently violating Helena was knocked over and off of her. She fell back onto the wall in surprise. The other girls gasped. Men all around her looked confused, unsure if they should bow to a lady or laugh at her being in her nightclothes.

“What did you do to me?” the soldier she had hit groaned. He coughed, “You ungrateful b–”

She turned her wand on him again. He shut his mouth. “I believe the word you are looking for is _witch_ ,” she supplied. The men in the room looked horrified, as if that term were worse than the rhyming word that began with B. 

Rowena held her arm out towards Helena, beckoning her closer. She quickly tucked herself into Rowena’s side. Then, the latter waved her arm at the other maids on the floor. “Come now, I’ll protect you,” she said and pointed her wand towards the men surrounding. They didn’t move to oppose.

Once Rowena had taken all of the girls from the barracks, she had half a mind to wake her lord father and Lord Delmare to tell them of what has happened here. Helena was shaking. “Thank you, Lady Rowena,” she said, “But you’ve been impulsive. You know what you’ve done now.”

Rowena Ravenclaw looked determinedly ahead, and did not look ashamed. “I know.” 


	5. Salazar

In his particular opinion, Salazar thought they had spent already too much time in the Hollow of Gryffindor. After his brother married Lady Glenda Gryffindor, they were only supposed to stay two days while his own family was paid. It's been a week now. It seems as though Salazar’s mother has become a close friend of the Lady of the Hollow.

And the worst part about it was that Salazar knew all about the Gryffindors’ darkest secret. They had no idea about his own. 

Magic wasn't really on the forefront of his mind when the Slytherins arrived at the Hollow. He knew he was only there to see his brother finally married. The fact of that was the only reason Markham Slytherin and Glenda Gryffindor were getting married was because their blood was compatible and the Slytherin magical line would continue on without threat. That was less of a big deal after the engagement was settled. 

However, Salazar Slytherin started to think again when he witnessed Godric save a maid from a water creature. It was easy to deduce that it was indeed a beast from his own world; the young lord looked as though he had seen a monster when he came out of the lake clutching that girl. Also, he wasn't quite quick enough at hiding his wand up his sleeve. If Salazar hadn't had a trained eye, he would have missed it.

After the near-tragedy, Salazar took it upon himself to take a trip back to that lake to see if he could find anything. He was alone, it was twilight, it was the perfect time for that water demon to try and attack. Or, perhaps, try to lure him in beforehand. If the creature really was what Salazar thought, that would be its main game

As he approached the water, he saw he that he was right. A horse laid in the lake by the shore, most of his back half hidden among the still water. It was chewing on a reed and didn’t look the least bit menacing. It even knickered when it saw Salazar approach. He paused a safe distance away and studied it. Not only was it eating the reeds but on close inspection he could see that its mane was also just tangles of rushes. He was sure he would have noticed if he wasn't looking for it specifically. 

Fascinating. 

“You must be really starving to attack someone outright,” Salazar muttered, more thinking out loud then talking to the creature, “What do the Irish call you? A kelpie?” Yes, that was it. A water creature that could shape shift, but often chose the form of a horse as the least threatening. Oh well, threatening or not, he couldn't let it live here and continue to terrorize the Hollow. No matter how boring he found the place. 

Salazar drew his wand and leveled it with the creature’s heart. It seemed to recognize this movement (further fascination), and it lowered its head and started to growl. Salazar just tilted his head. “ _ Diffindo _ .”

After Salazar had cleaned up the mess he made, he headed back towards the Hollow Castle. The gate was down, surprisingly, as it was getting late and therefore dangerous on the Lionsroad. Upon further inspection he found that the guard was asleep near the draw. Salazar thought idly to wake the poor oaf… but that wasn't really his place, this wasn't his home. It would be their funeral should someone choose to attack the Gryffindors’ stronghold. 

As he strolled about the yard, back towards the wing where his chambers were, he heard his name. Well, not  _ his  _ name, but the name Markham called him. 

“Sally!”

Salazar grit his teeth and made an about face. “I'm a knight, Markham.”

“So am I, peculiarly enough,” his brother replied, approaching, “My new wife is thrilled to come live at court. I'm sure the king would love to have you back, Sally.”

“Stop,” Salazar said curtly. 

Markham heaved a sigh. “You have a duty, Salazar. You lost your family, yes, but it's been months now. You must come back to court before the king orders you to come.”

“What good is serving the king if he won't give me orders?”

“You know what I mean,” said the older brother, his formerly bright disposition now gone and replaced with frustration, “It would be embarrassing to the lot of us who actually take our work seriously.”

Salazar narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think I take my work seriously?”

“Serious knights don’t cower in their parents’ estate,” Markham hissed.

“I may be a knight, I’m a  _ wizard  _ first, and I don’t cower,” Salazar growled in return, “Can you say that about yourself?”

Markham turned red with rage. “How dare you–”

Someone cleared his throat, effectively cutting into the brothers’ quarrel and drawing their attention some distance away. Their wizened father had hobbled his way from his rooms down into the yard. He leaned heavily on his cane, and was entirely unthreatening, but his sons both straightened up and gave the old lord their complete attention.

“Enough of this senseless fighting,” said Lord Slytherin, “We have more important things to speak of. Salazar–” The youngest knight perked up, surprised at being addressed first. “–come with me. Markham, you should go find your wife.”

The older brother looked scandalized, and Salazar gave him the wickedest of grins. The former stuttered. “But father–”

Lord Slytherin smacked the end of his cane on the stone path, interrupting Markham completely. “Lady Glenda will certainly be missing you,” he implored, deliberately and harshly.

Markham Slytherin cast one last dark look at Salazar before turning away sharply. Salazar trained his face, since he could barely hold back another prideful grin, and walked over to stand with his father. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

“Come,” was all the old lord said, so Salazar followed him silently. They climbed the nearest tower, which was a feat for a man of Lord Slytherin’s age. He didn’t stumble once, but his knuckles were white with strain on the head of his walking stick. Salazar knew better than to ask his father if he could help, for he was far too proud. Salazar himself was the same way.

At the top of the tower, passed all of the lodging and receiving rooms, was a guest library. It was customary for a lord’s castle to have a library for guests, usually much smaller than the family’s own, if even the only purpose was to keep the guests out of the main part of the home. However, Salazar doubted that’s what the Gryffindors were aiming to do, considering how social they were. There was a round table in the center of the round room, and there were maps of the Anglo-Saxon Empire spread over the expanse.

“What is this about?” Salazar asked slowly, maybe a little too boldly.

“Our world is in danger, son,” said Lord Slytherin, “And I don’t mean the empire. I mean  _ our  _ world.”

Salazar’s expression became steely. He became a knight to gain the political power, to fit in with his brothers, and as a whole keep the king from suspecting them of witchcraft. Let him kill the vulgar instead, since they liked blaming each other so much. “Because of the witch hunts? Father, the people are idiots. Nearly no real witches or wizards are killed for–”

“ _ Nearly,” _ his father interrupted and Salazar clamped his mouth shut, “But every now and then, a wizard is careless and his entire family is wiped out. And this is becoming more common, Salazar. Magical blood, magical power, is being wasted all across the kingdom. Children are being burned before they even know how to use it. It pains me.”

And Salazar could tell that it did. His lord father stared down at the maps of the empire, his eyes even darker than they usually were. He knew that Lord and Lady Slytherin cared very much about carrying on the bloodline, as did Salazar. If wizards and witches stopped breeding, their magic would cease to exist. Or it would be taken, by the less powerful. Which was why it was very important that Markham married Glenda Gryffindor and not some brainless lady from their home state. All of the Slytherin sons married a witch… even Salazar had. His immediate family hadn’t been so lucky, and it tortured him nearly every day.

“You may be young, son, but I don’t want you to be misinformed. Very recently, the Haren estate was burned down, after their eldest daughter was beheaded for witchcraft,” Lord Slytherin continued.

Salazar’s blood boiled. “Their family is old magic,” he said.

“And the ruling family of Harenfield, which was their seat for centuries,” his father continued, “An entire house. Wiped out.”

“Outstanding,” Salazar muttered. 

The lord nodded. “Indeed.”

Salazar continued gravely. “Did anyone survive?”

“No news on that front,” said Lord Slytherin, “It would be important to know. Harenfield is not too far of a journey from here, if one takes the Lionsroad.”

Now Salazar understood. His father, a patriarch not only of the Slytherins but other surrounding magical families, was telling him this so he would find the answers to the unknown. Of course, the young knight was not about to turn down a mission from his father.

“I'll need a horse,” he pointed out.

Lord Slytherin was already steps ahead. “Take one of the draft horses. Missing one will not affect our trip back to Anglia.”

“I'll need a companion.” Knight or no, traveling major roads in Saxon territory asked for bandits. It was rumored that a woman could even travel alone in the north, which was part of the empire, but still considered Anglian land. “I can only wonder if one of my brothers would also like to avoid going back to being one of Edward’s lap dogs.”

Coughing, Lord Slytherin shook his head. “Avoid your brothers. I'm trusting this information to  _ you,  _ Salazar,” he said firmly.

Salazar lowered his gaze, in obedience and also in thought. It was silent for a few moments, and then with the breeze came in the sound of swordplay. Salazar went to the window, which overlooked the yard, where he knew the Gryffindor men spent a lot of time. What he saw, however, was young Lord Godric and his sister Lady Gaia. Surprisingly, they both had swords, but of course the brother was winning on the sister. Godric lunged at the girl, and she just laughed when the flat side of the blade connected with her hip. The hem of her gown was hooked at her waist to free her legs. She wore riding habit underneath. 

Lord Slytherin had joined him at the window. He sniffed in distaste. “Glad I chose the right sister. A  _ girl  _ holding a sword,” he grumbled. 

Salazar just watched, his head tilted in interest. Godric Gryffindor dug the tip of his sword into the dirt and bowed over-dramatically at his sister. Gaia shook her head and held up her hand in an obscene gesture. 

The lord snarled and turned from the window. “Tell me before you depart. I suppose it isn’t that important who you choose for a companion,” he said, and Salazar could hear him hobble for the door and start down the stairs. 

Salazar didn’t look away as he left.

* * *

 

Forced to suffer through dining together, Salazar and his brothers ended up exchanging a number of irritated looks. Lady Glenda talked happily with her new mother, effectively giving her a reason to ignore the deplorable ways all of her real sons were acting towards each other. Salazar himself ignored them all dutifully, aside from Markham. He ended up sending a couple goblets tipping over onto the elder brother’s lap.

Otherwise he was occupied with getting himself out of here and to Harenfield as soon as possible. He wanted to be gone at sunrise. And he still had so much to do.

“I will be so sad to see you go, my dear,” said Lady Slytherin, to which Salazar looked sharply. It was as if she had read his mind. But on further inspection, he realized that she was only talking to Glenda. 

“I haven’t seen King Edward’s palace since I was a girl,” she replied, smiling brightly, “I am so fortunate not only to see it again, but to live there!”

Salazar’s mother smiled warmly, and he knew in the back of his mind she loved having a simpering girl like Glenda in their family. “Markham is a favorite of the king’s as well. You’ll be very welcome there,” the lady mother continued.

Glenda moved her gaze to her husband, and Salazar’s brother, whom he has become increasingly infuriated with, gave her a simple grin in return. He looked at her like she was a painting instead of a woman. 

That might be a reason why the king prefered Markham to even the oldest Slytherin brothers. Arrogance seemed to be a propelling feature.

Salazar placed his utensils down in an effort to show that he was going to leave when his mother turned to him. “Salazar, you will be traveling with the caravan to the capitol as well, yes? Markham and Aemon tell me the king is expecting you,” she asked.

Turning a grating look to Markham, Salazar dug his fingers into the fabric of his breeches. He would never blame Aemon, the brother closest to his own age, because as good of a fighter that he was his constitution did not match up to others’ knightly bravado. Markham, however, would have no problem with pulling their poor mother into their petty argument. And the sly, taunting grin he gave Salazar confirmed that.

“I have actually received no such orders from the king, Mother,” Salazar replied simply, dragging his gaze from his brother’s, “And I have planned to remain here at the Hollow for just a bit longer.”

Lady Slytherin knew not to look disappointed. It had been several years since all her sons left their drafty ancestral home. “Why do you wish to stay?”

Salazar moved his gaze back to Markham, who looked less proud now. Glenda’s eyes darted between them. Perhaps she wasn’t as oblivious as he first thought her. “I’ve taken a bit of a liking to my newest brother,” he replied simply and gave his mother an easy smile.

Indeed, something could be said for the kind of respect Salazar had for Godric Gryffindor. As the sky darkened that evening, Salazar made his way across the grounds of the Hollow looking for its young lord. The yard was empty, as swordplay got a little too dangerous to practice in the dark, but he couldn’t imagine that was much of a hindrance to a man like Gryffindor. There was no way he had retired yet. Thankfully, Salazar found him the next place he looked, which turned out to be the stables. It was empty save for a few stable boys and Godric himself.

“Am I interrupting something?” Salazar spoke up from the large open doors.

Godric looked over from his brushing the nose of a coppery gelding, and he politely inclined his head. “Not at all, sir. What can I do for you?”

Salazar stepped inside. His boots crunched on the hay on the floor; he could count the number of times on one hand he had ever set foot inside of a stable before. “I have something to ask of you that’s rather important.” He looked around at the stable boys, two of them, who were pretending to be ignoring them and going about their work. “And private.” Salazar didn’t know the Gryffindors’ standing with their servants knowing about their magic.

But Godric understood, and with a small nod of his head the two boys scurried outside. Salazar waited a safe amount of time to wait for them to be gone before speaking up again. “I’d like to skip the pleasantries, if you don’t mind,” he began.

Godric put the horsebrush down. “Nothing would make me happier.”

That made Salazar grin a bit, and he continued. “Would you like to know why my father wanted Glenda to marry my brother?”

“Can’t say that I do, but I expect it’s an integral part to whatever it is you’re playing at,” Godric replied, then snickered at Salazar’s second grin, “Wow,  _ another  _ emotion. I didn’t know you had them. Anyway, apologies. Continue.”

Salazar didn’t quite know what to make of Godric Gryffindor. He was quick-witted and callous, but all this bravery in talking to a him like an equal might come from the fact that was his land. “Your sister is pureblooded,” he said, short and simple. First Godric’s gaze slid to the horse at his right. Salazar rolled his eyes. “Pureblood, not thoroughbred,” he added, drawing the young lord’s attention back to him, “Although that would be an accurate description of your  _ younger  _ sister, I think. Do you know what pureblood means, then?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to explain it.”

The knight inclined his head respectfully and plowed on. “Purebloods, in our world, come from families of old magic. You and I, for example, are pureblooded. Therefore, as are your sisters, confirming Glenda’s perfect match for Markham.”

Godric just blinked, silent, and to his credit didn’t roar with rage with his secret being known. In fact, if Salazar had known the other man better, he might have said there was a glimmer of relief in the sag of his shoulders. “Magic?” he said, his voice soft but full of interest.

“Yes, magic,” Salazar nodded, “You have been taught, haven’t you? That arm of yours isn’t just for swinging a sword. You’ve been given a–”

“Gift,” Godric interrupted. Salazar closed his mouth. He didn’t look away as Godric took a moment to process the situation. “Yes, my grandfather taught me,” he continued after a few beats, “How did you know?”

“There’s a book, back home. It’s been in our possession for centuries. Every magical family name is etched within its pages,” Salazar said. Godric’s eyebrows went up, and he straightened a bit. A lord’s stance, he knew, when he was dealing with something diplomatic. Or, maybe a coping mechanism. “What did your grandfather teach you, Lord Gryffindor?”

Godric’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Only some simple wand work, basic spells. But I’ve read. A lot.”

“Study is important, it’s not all practical. But it sticks in you, doesn’t it?” Salazar said. The other nodded, and Salazar felt a rush of affinity for the son of the Hollow. There was no power play between the two of them. Magic was ingrained deep in all of the Slytherins but none of them had ever held it in such high regard as Salazar did. They didn’t understand him. They hadn’t taken the time to hone it into an art, to caress it like their own thing of beauty. “I could continue with this well into the night, but I come here with a… quest. And it has to do with our world.”

“The… magical world?” Godric questioned.

“Indeed. Our kind is being persecuted at alarming rates all across the empire, most recently with the Harens in Wales,” Salazar told him.

He looked outraged. “The Harens? They’ve been around for centuries! Their territory is  _ named  _ after them!” he cried.

“A tragedy, isn’t it?” sighed the knight, “It’s very important that survivors are protected at all costs. My father thought to send me to see if I could find any, and I’m sure you know that the road between here and Wales is treacherous–”

“I’m going with you.”

Salazar closed his mouth again, taken aback at the sudden declaration. Godric looked like he could ride off at that very moment, adventure sparkling in his eyes. In fact, it lit up his whole demeanor. Salazar didn’t know why he ever suspected a possible no. 

“Very well. We leave at dawn.”

“Poetic.”

“I’m not sure when we will return.”

“Romantic.”

* * *

 

Salazar and Godric were awake before the sun, at first preparing by the light of their wands (Salazar had taught that spell– it was a simple Latin word, and Godric called it “life changing”), then once they were outside together packing the horses the sky started to lighten.

Even though they hadn’t even left the Hollow yet, Salazar was surprisingly optimistic. There was no way an entire family of wizards had been erased by just a mob of vulgar peasants It was just impossible. If under personal threat –at least the threat of  _ death _ – no wizard should be afraid of using his magic. Salazar wouldn’t be afraid. He had no problem shedding the blood of those below him.

He borrowed a draft horse from the Slytherins’ caravan like his father suggested, and Godric prepared his copper gelding. Both horses waited by the gate, but the young lord was nowhere to be seen. Slipperier than a Basilisk, that one.

While Salazar was tightening the straps on his saddle bag, the gelding started to winnie and stomp, as if he were being frightened. Salazar pulled his own horse away, just to be safe. Then, the horse reared and threw his head, and he knew the poor thing had spooked.

Salazar had to do something before it bolted, and he drew his wand on instinct, but he didn’t even know the damned thing’s name. But then Godric was there and he placed himself right between Salazar and the frightened horse.

“Oy, Clemen, easy boy, easy,” he said, grabbing the reins and gently tugging on them. He turned his head to Salazar. “What’s spooking him?”

Salazar looked around, confused, and then he saw a slithering green body coiling in the tall grass by the outerwall. It was a snake, a rather small one, but obviously not common enough for the Gryffindors’ horses to be used to them. Not like the Slytherins’ were.

He moved the grass out of the way. “Go on, find a new place to nest,” he told the snake. It uncoiled, protesting, but Salazar interrupted. “You’re spooking the horse.  _ Go _ .”

The snake made its way along the wall, past the gate, and out of sight. When Salazar turned, Godric was staring at him as if he’d seen a wraith. The knight gave him a look.

“Did you just–” Godric pointed to where the snake had taken its exit. He still held fast to his horse’s reins. “–talk to that snake? In… its own  _ snake _ language?”

Ah, right. Considering his limited experience with other wizards, it often slipped Salazar’s mind that not everyone could speak to snakes like the Slytherins could. “Parseltongue, they call it. A family trait,” he explained and Godric became gradually less appalled, “Our history books say Merlin used to give it to his most gifted students.”

The other nodded slowly. “So, your family can speak to snakes… and your sigil is a snake,” he said, nodding to the blanket of Slytherin colors under the draft horse’s saddle.

Salazar nodded. “It wasn’t a random choice on my ancestor’s part,” he said with a hint of an amused grin.

Godric nodded his head and climbed on top of Clemen. He gently patted the steed’s large neck. “We’re not used to snakes in the Hollow. You must attract them,” he said and Salazar rolled his eyes. He climbed on top of his own mount while Godric continued, “I wonder if I can speak lion language. That’s our sigil.”

“Have you ever met a lion?”

The young lord shook his head enthusiastically, his fiery hair falling into his face with the effort. “I think I could stand a chance, though.”

From there, the two men set out on their journey for the Kingdom of Wales. Godric immediately started to whistle, and Salazar could only take that for so much time, so he interrupted with something that has been on his mind. He explained that the two of them would be spending a lot of time together in the trip to Wales, so they should address each other by their given names, because what good would titles be in the wilderness. No “sir” or “lord”, which would be odd for Salazar. He wasn’t used to someone outside his family calling him by his name alone. However, it seemed that Godric was in agreement, as he beamed in reply and nodded enthusiastically. 

Not even twenty minutes later, he called Salazar “friend”. 


End file.
